


Let It Snow

by aparticularbandit



Series: Roisa Fic Week 2020 [1]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Christmas, College AU, F/F, Neighbors AU, i mean it's not technically ON Christmas but it's during the Christmas season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit
Summary: In which Rose is accosted by her across the hall neighbor because the landlady won't turn the heat on.Roisa Fic Week 2020 Day 1: Neighbors.
Relationships: Luisa Alver/Rose Solano
Series: Roisa Fic Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880437
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Roisa Fic Week 2020





	Let It Snow

Rose doesn’t like Christmas. She doesn’t like the holiday, and she doesn’t like the _idea_ of it. When she was younger, her family hadn’t been much into it. Her mother had, yes, but after her mother’s death, her father had stopped caring entirely, and she’d spent the time outside by the riverbank instead, wrapped in her coat and with her tiny boots stomping through the snow. Elena hadn’t helped matters; she’d wanted a fireplace built into their already too small house, and when her father had complied with her wishes, the smell of ash and soot covered everything. Rose – Clara, then – would go to school with the stench of fire, and the children called her such. She wasn’t _Cinder-Ella_ , but she was _Sparky_ or _Flame_ or _Firebird_ because with the smell and the bright red of her crinkly hair, they couldn’t think of anything else.

Being alone in America has its perks. She can use an electric fireplace, if she wants one, and have the same heat and feel of a real fire without having to smell like one. Not that she has one – enough problems for a lifetime with the old one, and if she was going to get one at all, she _wanted_ the flame. And, most importantly, she doesn’t have to decorate for Christmas.

During her undergrad, her university-mandated roommates had decorated everything. Stickers in the windows which were framed with flashing lights. A huge tree (not _huge_ , but it felt like it in their tiny little dorm room) covered in ornaments which they hadn’t really had any money for but somehow Diana had found a way to buy anyway and _more_ lights. And, of course, all of the lights were on all of the time, plugged into most of the outlets, which kept Rose from consistent use of anything more than one socket, which half of the time had her laptop or phone charger plugged in and the other half of the time had her coffee maker plugged in instead.

She’d needed the coffee then.

—and no, she did _not_ mean the peppermint-flavored mocha French cappuccino latte frou-frou milky sweet drinks that her aforementioned university-mandated roommates wanted. Diana introduced her to them first, and Meg brought her along for drinks after that, and of them the only ones she really _liked_ were the ones spiked with Baileys. (She far prefers _whiskey_ or _scotch_ , and she prefers them _straight_ , but that is an entire other conversation.) Coffee is meant to be black – _like her heart_ , if the other interns at her current law firm were to be believed – not… _whatever_ it was so many other people drank. No sugar, no cream, no extra flavoring added in to cover the taste of the beans themselves.

She usually makes a small exception for pumpkin spice, but _even then_ , it is better in hot chocolate with foam and tiny little marshmallows – and _those_ are far better had when one is curled up under woven blankets in front of a roaring wood-burning fireplace with the warm mug on the table on one end of the sofa within easy reach and a thick, time-consuming book in her hands. Preferably a good story, something to distract her from the legality of her everyday life.

Right now, however, she is curled up on her threadbare sofa, under the weight of multiple blankets, shivering so much that the book in her hands is unreadable. Rose can’t focus on the words long enough for them to make any sense with the wild wobbling she is doing from the cold. She lets out an exasperated sigh and finally drops the book on the other end of the sofa, where its gray cover fades into the equally gray shade of the top blanket’s fabric, and buries herself under the blankets until all that can be seen is the top of her frizzy red hair.

At least her breath helps to warm her up, the heat of it bringing feeling back to the tips of her fingers just long enough for her to pretend that she _might_ be able to try and read again but dissipating before her next breath.

It’s while sitting beneath layers of blankets trying to convince herself that _no_ , she does _not_ see the same white puffs of breath that she does when she is actually _outside_ in the cold that she hears the loud _slam_ of an adjoining apartment door, the thud of bare feet (no clicks or clacks of heels – _and who would wear heels in this weather?_ **~~she would~~** – no clunks of sneakers) pounding past the stairs, and the harsh banging on the door of an apartment just further down the hall – the landlady’s apartment, of course.

“Turn the heat _on_ , you old miser!”

Rose sinks further under the blankets. She knows that voice well enough from the parties that have been thrown across the hall (somehow, she can _always_ hear the parties. probably the paper thin walls) and even better from the trembling moans of pleasure at all hours. It is _impossible_ to not know that voice, even though she has determined to never meet its owner (if what she’s heard is any indication, she’s…well enough just from _hearing_ her). Her face flushes a bright scarlet as the banging continues, and she mutters a small gratefulness to her across the hall neighbor for embarrassing her enough to warm her up.

The landlady doesn’t answer. The landlady _never_ answers. Sometimes, Rose wonders if the landlady actually lives in her apartment or if she just says that it’s hers so that the annoyed occupants – like current unnamed yelling across the hall neighbor – would be redirected _there_ instead of finding her wherever it is she _really_ is. It’s certainly a smart idea.

After a few minutes, the loud noise subsides, and Rose breathes a sigh of relief, its warmth thawing the tip of her nose. Her fingers rub against her temples. She thinks this new wave of heat is her body finally realizing that the cold isn’t going away – like the burn of stepping into snow without wearing any shoes, like a brain freeze all over her body but _slightly_ less painful.

Then the pounding comes at _her_ door, and she sinks deeper beneath the blankets until they cover her head entirely.

“Hey! Are you going to answer?”

_No._

“Look, I _know_ you’re in there, I could hear your microwave going off, like, five minutes ago.”

_Fifteen minutes ago. I just finished reheating my hot chocolate. Which is nowhere near as good as—_

“I can hear you _breathing_.”

By then, Rose has moved out from under her blankets, albeit just barely, keeping them wrapped tightly around her to conserve warmth as she pads in stockinged feet over to her front door. She intentionally makes a great deal of unlocking it – slow, but just as loud as the woman outside – and then cracks the door open. “You can’t hear me breathing.”

“But it got you to answer the door, didn’t it?”

Rose has only caught glimpses of the other woman as she’s passed her in the hall, often straight out ignoring her scattered Spanish phrases or comments as she fumbles with her keys at her door. The other woman might have said something to her once, trying to start up a friendly conversation, but Rose has never been particularly interested in replying. She _likes_ her privacy, and she _likes_ not knowing anyone else in the apartment complex by name (other than the landlady). This desire to remain unattached of course extends to the woman who lives across the hall and has only increased the more she knew of her ( _heard_ of her).

But this is the first time she’s seen her – _really_ seen her – up close and personal and _actually invading her personal space_ because the other woman wastes absolutely no time pushing Rose’s door open further and stepping inside her tiny little freezing cold apartment.

Any pause that the smug smirk on her soft lips or the glimmer of honey in her hazelnut eyes or the soft curl of her long _straighter than she was_ hair gave her is now _completely_ gone.

“Did I say you could come in?”

“You held the door open for me, didn’t you?” The woman turns to face her, hands on the curve of her hips.

Rose swallows, pulling her blankets closer around her, not _hiding_ beneath them, exactly, but letting her fingers tighten on their edges in a comforting gesture. “No. I opened it because you were _pounding_ on it, and you still haven’t told me what you want.”

“What if I don’t _want_ anything?”

Rose blinks slowly, disbelieving. She doesn’t humor the woman with a reply, crossing her arms beneath her blanket and giving her a cold stare.

“Okay, I do, it’s _cold_ , and the landlady’s not home, and I was hoping—”

Her voice drops as her eyes wander along Rose’s face. They pause on the bulk that is her form covered in unshapely blankets, and she’s reminded again just how grateful she is that she’d answered the door wrapped in them.

“You were hoping?”

“Look, I just want to curl up with someone and share _body heat_.”

Rose’s eyes widen and she nods once and this is _not_ what she expected and certainly not what she even _wanted_. Before she has a moment to say anything, though, the woman continues, “But you didn’t even decorate for Christmas – there’s no tree, no presents, no _nothing_ , do you not like _holidays_ or something? I don’t know if I can cuddle with someone who hates Christmas.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” Rose says, moving past the other woman, whose name she still doesn’t know, and slumps down on her sofa. The movement causes her book to clatter to the floor, and she leaves it there, hoping the other woman will stumble over it if she tries to sit down. “And _I_ don’t like to cuddle with strange women who are _very loud_ and whose names _I don’t know_.”

“Luisa Alver.”

The words are snappish, and she crawls over the other arm of the sofa, completely avoiding the book where it’s fallen, and smiles. “Does this mean you’re more inclined to cuddle with me now?”

“Knowing your name does _not_ change the _very loud_ part.”

“I can be quiet.”

Rose’s eyebrows raise as she chuckles. “I doubt that.”

Her across the hall neighbor pulls up the other end of the blankets and curls under them, mouth dropping open at the accusation. “I can be quiet!”

“I live across the hall from you. The walls are _paper thin_. I can _hear_ you.”

“You mean like I can hear you _breathing_?” Luisa asks, and her freezing cold bare feet press against Rose’s legs.

Rose pulls back on the blankets, ripping them out of the other woman’s hands, and curls up more tightly beneath them, her feet pressing on the bottom edge so that it can’t be stolen away from her again. “You’re _cold_ , and I didn’t say you could stay here. Why don’t you make nice with one of the people upstairs? You party with them enough.”

Luisa huffs, giving her head a shake. “They’re all _men_. Nice for free drinks, but _not_ for blankets and cuddling. They get all **hard** , you know?” She wobbles one hand in the air, lips spreading into a huge grin. “Besides, your door was the first one after the landlady’s, and I’m _curious_. You live right across the hall and I don’t even know your name.”

“I didn’t know yours. It’s not _that_ interesting.” Rose shivers once beneath her pile of blankets and glances longingly at the book still on the ground. _This_ is a moment when she wished that she was still in the school dorms, even with an annoying Christmas maniac of a roommate. At least it was _warm_.

She should just break down and get a space heater. As annoying as that might be, given the flat rate of their apartments, the landlady had no real _need_ to turn the heat up. It would cost _her_ more on the building bills, but _their_ rate wouldn’t change. The internet is much the same way; it’s bundled in with the total price, but it’s so spotty and useless that it’s better to accept the extra cost and pay for her own. Rose is certain that some of the other residents pooled together for the internet and shared, but that would require actually getting to know them, and she _still_ doesn’t want to do that. It’s an extra fifteen, twenty-give dollars a month. She can afford that (and even if she couldn’t, Elena could. She wanted Rose accessible, and she wanted her _secure_ ).

A good space heater, on the other hand, isn’t something Elena will spring for, and although it _would_ make Rose’s standard of living significantly better, she would much rather spend that money on something else. Books. Notebooks. _Candles_ , which make the apartment smell _so_ much better but don’t actually make it any warmer. Besides, when she left, what would she do with it? Leave it for the next tenant? Give it to someone else? (Luisa, probably, would sweep into the apartment and swipe it before whoever showed up. It would certainly fix her _cuddle with the tenant she doesn’t know_ problem. Not that she knows Luisa well enough to assume that, but it seems to fit with her character.)

“I know _everyone’s_ name. Even if I don’t like them,” Luisa boasted, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. At least she’s wearing something appropriate for the freezing cold conditions – a scarlet sweatshirt with the picture of a jackalope embossed on the front and some high school name printed across the bottom in bright golden lettering. It’s all wrinkled, so that the writing can’t clearly be read. Then Luisa draws her knees up against her chest and wraps her arms around them, and the jackalope and its writing disappear entirely.

Her head tilts to the right. “Your next-door neighbor is Maria. She’s got a bunch of crosses put up everywhere. Her boyfriend, Joey, comes to get her every Sunday morning so they can go to church together. They’re cute. I think he’ll probably propose on Christmas. She says they’ve been dating for three years, so I _hope_ he gets his ass in gear soon. Some girls might hold out forever, but the way Maria’s been looking at Matthew across the hall, _mmmmm_ , I don’t know.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. “For a guy, he’s cute. I can see why she’d want to get on that. But Matthew’s got eyes on Jane upstairs who’s dating the _super_ cute policeman, so it’s just a tangle of drama waiting to happen, and _I_ don’t want to get in on that.” She rolls her eyes as she leans back against the arm of the sofa. Then she frowns, pushes one hand against the cushion. “This is a _shitty_ sofa. You know this is a shitty sofa, right?”

“I live here, Luisa. It’s _my_ sofa. I like it.”

“How do you have _sex_ on this thing? I’d break my back!”

Rose presses her lips together, eyebrows cocking upward briefly as her eyes focus on the blanket. She doesn’t say anything. Her silence is enough of an answer. Or it _should_ be, if her conversation partner were anyone but the _very loud_ neighbor from across the hall.

Luisa’s eyes narrow as she settles back into her seat. “You _like_ the pain, don’t you?”

“I’m not talking about my sex life with a stranger.” But Rose relaxes, leaning back against her end of the sofa, and her legs spread out, toes tapping the other woman’s leg. Her sweatpants are soft, and as opposed to her bare feet, which were freezing cold, her legs are actually warm. More than _her_ sock-covered toes are, anyway.

“Only because I’m _right_.”

At first, Rose doesn’t say anything because any opposition would be taken as proof that Luisa _is_ in fact right and any snide _acceptance_ , well, that just wouldn’t do. Better to play it safe. She shrugs. “I guess you’ll never know.”

“I guess not.”

Rose can feel Luisa’s eyes as they wander over her blanket-covered form, and she’s grateful again for the thick layers covering her. “You like what you see?”

“No. You’re covered in blankets that you won’t share with me.” Luisa huffs, and her lips contort into a pout. “Please share with me, cute redheaded nameless neighbor who hates Christmas. I just want to be warm. That’s all I want.”

“So I’m cute now?”

Luisa shifts, and her legs move from the touch of Rose’s toes. “I’d say _hot_ , but I didn’t think you’d like the pun.”

“Your loss,” Rose says, and she kicks out the other edge of the blankets so that it falls into Luisa’s reach. “I _love_ a good word play.”

“How was I supposed to know that,” Luisa asks, greedily grabbing the blankets and pulling them back over her, “when I don’t even know your _name_?”

“My name’s not a pun,” Rose murmurs, and while Luisa gets herself settled beneath the other edge of the blankets, she reaches over and pulls her book back up from the ground where it had fallen. She knows better than to try and get back to reading it right now – there is no way Luisa is going to let her do anything so quiet and normal as _reading_ , not when she’s here wanting to talk – so she bends the corner of her page and shuts the book, places it on the coffee table across from them along with her glasses. “I don’t really need them,” she explains before Luisa can even ask, “but they help with reading.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m not all blurry now?” Luisa asks with a bright grin, and she bites her lower lip as Rose glances back to her, brows raising. “I thought you looked cuter with them on.”

“I don’t care whether you think I’m cute or not.”

“I’m not saying you don’t look cute _now_.” Luisa sticks her tongue out at her. It’s nice to see that she’d covered so much of herself with the other end of the blankets that the only thing Rose can see of her now is her head, and even then, only just barely. She’s pulled them up so high that they cover her lips and her nose, and the only time she moves it is when she wants to speak.

Which is to say that it’s probably better if she doesn’t keep them held up like that at all.

Luisa pulls the blankets down and continues to talk as if Rose _does_ care. (She doesn’t. She _really_ doesn’t.) “You definitely still look cute now. But you were rocking the whole sexy librarian vibe with the glasses and your hair pulled back in that ponytail and _I know you don’t want to hear that from your loud across the hall neighbor who apparently loudly bangs every woman she comes across_ but it was definitely an attractive look.” Luisa presses her lips together and raises her shoulders in a simple shrug. “I don’t make the rules.”

“I’m glad you don’t.” Rose pulls her edge of the blankets a little more tightly around her shoulders, just under her chin. “I have a feeling they would include something like _must cuddle with your cure across the hall neighbor for warmth_ or _must decorate for Christmas_ and I feel like both of those would be _very_ unfortunate for your across the hall neighbor who would much rather prefer to keep to herself and not spend ludicrous amounts of money on a holiday that she really doesn’t even want to celebrate.”

It’s more than she’s said at once to the other woman the entire time she has been here. Truth be told, Rose isn’t sure why she’d said all of it to begin with. She should have just cut it off early. With the rules. The continuation leaves it open for Luisa to ask questions, and she doesn’t want—

“So you _do_ hate Christmas.” Luisa’s eyes narrow, and she leans forward with a look on her face that Rose is pretty sure is feigned. “I can’t believe I’m sharing blankets with someone who hates Christmas.”

“I don’t hate Christmas.” Rose shrugs again and presses her feet a little more firmly against Luisa’s leg. “And if you don’t want to share with me, then you are welcome to leave.”

“How can you hate Christmas? It’s the best time of the year!”

“I _told_ you, I don’t hate Christmas.” Rose presses herself beneath the blankets, shifting further beneath them and lower along the arm of the sofa so that her neck is resting against the arm instead of her back. It puts her foot a little further up Luisa’s leg than she would like, but the sofa isn’t very big. She doesn’t have much choice in that.

Luisa, finally noticing that Rose’s foot is on her leg, shrinks back away from her and then reaches across the blankets and thwacks her, open-handed, against what Rose assumes she thinks is her arm. It isn’t – it’s midway up her torso, just beneath her chest, where its cold is helped by her own heartbeat – and if not for the thick layers of blankets between them, it would have _hurt_. “Don’t put your feet up against me when you wouldn’t let me put mine against you!”

“Your feet are bare! And _cold_!”

“They’re warmer now!” Luisa says, and as she does, she pushes her _still very cold_ feet up against Rose’s leg.

Rose shrinks away from her, glaring at her. “ _Warmer_ doesn’t mean they don’t still feel _cold_.”

“Well, if you put _pants_ on, then it wouldn’t be a _problem_ , would it?” Luisa glares back at her. “And if you’re so cold, why _aren’t_ you wearing pants? Are you barefoot, too?” She sticks her hand under the blankets, and before Rose can stop her, Luisa’s fingers are running over her sock-covered feet.

But it doesn’t matter if she’s wearing socks or not – all of a sudden, Rose feels herself shuddering with suppressed laughter. She tries to pull her feet back, but Luisa keeps a firm grasp on one of them. Luisa’s brows raise, and she slowly runs her thumb along the sole of the foot in her grasp. Rose _squirms_ , and a sharp bark of laughter breaks through her lips before she bites down _hard_ on her lower lip, trying to keep herself from making any more sound.

“ _You’re ticklish._ ” Luisa’s eyes glint with mischief, and an evil _evil_ grin splits across her face. She pulls up out of the blankets the slightest bit and moves to lean over Rose, her eyes scanning the blankets, trying to see if she can find a better indication of where, exactly, Rose is, where those sensitive spots are, and Rose knows that she has to get out – _she has to get out now_ – before Luisa can—

“What’s your name?” Luisa whispers, her eyes bright. “Tell me your name, oh pretty redheaded across the hall neighbor, and I might take pity on you.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Rose murmurs, and she bites her lower lip again, trying to make sure that she doesn’t say anything else. This has become a _game_ , and she is determined to win it. She is _very_ good at games. Most of the time. She _prides herself_ on being good at games and winning and—

Luisa’s fingers rub ever so gently along the sole of the foot that is still in her grasp, and Rose suppresses a shiver, biting down harder on her lower lip – so hard that she can taste the littlest bit of copper on her tongue. Still, her eyes widen, and she stares at Luisa.

“No?” Luisa asks, and Rose shakes her head, her lips a large grin even if she’s trying not to make any sound at all. “What is your _name_ , pretty redheaded across the hall neighbor? You have shared your blankets with me,” she murmurs as her fingertips move from Rose’s foot to her ankle, “and I have shared my heat with you,” and Rose _really_ wants to argue that one because Luisa hasn’t really shared much of anything with her _at all_ but she isn’t about to open her mouth to say it, and right now, with Luisa’s fingertips moving from her ankle up her leg and now dancing across her thigh, she’s _not entirely comfortable_ but, well, it’s _war_ , so she isn’t going to say anything about that, “and I have shared the names of your neighbors with you,” as if Rose couldn’t have figured those out herself if she wanted to, “and I have tried to share the amazingness of Christmas with you—”

“Okay, _hold up_ ,” Rose interjects, her eyes narrowing. “You haven’t done anything but _berate_ me for _not decorating for Christmas_ and—”

Luisa grins, and her fingers move all at once to the sensitive area at Rose’s waist, and Rose takes a deep breath and tenses all at once, curling up in on herself to get away from those soft, _soft_ fingers that are gently tickling against her flesh – _which is worse than the poking, prodding tickling because her skin and touch is so soft that it tickles without her even trying_ – and as she turns, Luisa follows her and goes for the other side, and no matter how much Rose twists and turns, Luisa is already there, and she’s gasping and laughing and _she can’t breathe_ and finally she gets out: “ **Stop! _Stop!_** ”

“What’s your _name_?” Luisa asks, and she doesn’t stop.

“Can’t you just _stop_?” Rose begs, and when Luisa _still_ doesn’t stop, she kicks out with her legs and pushes the blankets off because _two_ can play at this game.

But no matter where she pokes and prods at the other woman, nothing seems to catch Luisa off guard, and the more that she tries, the more of herself Rose leaves exposed to Luisa’s fingertips, and then she’s curled up in a fetal position again, trying to breathe, laughing and giggling and staring with wet eyes at a woman _who does not know when to quit_ , and she says, finally, _finally_ , “It’s Rose!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s _Rose_! My name! It’s Rose! Now will you _stop_?”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Would I lie to you?”

Luisa considers that for a moment and then shrugs. “You might.” But in that moment, she has apparently decided that she doesn’t need to force the information out of her anymore, and she leans back against her arm of the sofa, pulling the blankets up from the floor where they were discarded. “And you _kicked the blankets off_ , Rose! Now we have to get _all that warmth back_ and—” She shoves half of the blankets over to Rose’s side of the couch and pulls her own up to her chin, shivering underneath them. “ _Why aren’t you wearing any pants?_ ”

Rose takes the edge of the blankets that is thrown to her and buries herself beneath them again. “I’m wearing shorts. That’s good enough.”

“You can’t complain about it being too cold when you’re wearing shorts and not pants,” Luisa says, her eyes narrowing again. “You could be wearing pants and be _that much more warmer_.”

Rose shrugs. “I overheat when I sleep. It’s only when I’m awake that I’m cold, and sometimes I read until I fall asleep. It’s not that abnormal.”

Luisa stares at her, blinks a couple of times, and then grins. “Can I stay with you while you sleep?”

Rose stares at this woman – her across the hall neighbor who is in all ways far too loud and far too intrusive and keeps complaining about how she doesn’t like Christmas (when it is fully within her rights as a human being to not like Christmas) – and who is now asking _to stay with her while she sleeps_ – and in that moment, Rose thinks that it’s entirely possible that Luisa could be _kind of cute_ but that she isn’t sure she wants someone so overwhelmingly loud – so _overwhelming_ – to be sleeping with her.

“After all that tickling, you expect me to say _yes_ to that?” Rose asks, one brow raising. “How can I trust that you won’t do that while I’m sleeping?”

“ _I would never_ ,” Luisa starts, and then her eyes widen and shift away somewhere else. “Okay, so, I _would_ , but not right now. We already had our tickle war. And you’re not my brother and you’re not my girlfriend, so I probably wouldn’t do that with you. I mean, we’re friends, but I know you would rather we didn’t, so I wouldn’t. I’m not _that_ cruel.”

“Says the woman who tickled my name out of me.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you wouldn’t tell me what it was without intimidation.” Luisa sticks her tongue out at her, and she presses her cod feet against Rose’s skin, and she smiles. “It’s a pretty name, though. I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

“Some things are best kept secret.” Rose doesn’t force Luisa to move her cold feet away from her. Instead, she lets out a little sigh and nods. “Fine. You can stay. But this isn’t a regular thing, and I have to get up early, so _you’ll_ have to get up early because I don’t want you staying in here by yourself when I’m not here.”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

Rose presses her lips even more firmly together. “No. I don’t. Not _that_ much. We’ve only just met.”

“Your fault,” Luisa says, pulling out one finger just long enough to wag it at her. “You don’t talk to any of your neighbors, unlike some of us, who are very into meeting all of our neighbors.”

“I don’t _want_ to meet my neighbors,” Rose murmurs. She picks lightly at one of the blankets and then scoots down beneath it. “There isn’t anything wrong with not meeting my neighbors.” Her voice takes on a slightly pouting tone, and she looks down at the blanket instead of meeting Luisa’s eyes. “I’m just fine the way things are.”

Rose glances up just enough to see Luisa staring at her. She isn’t worried she’s said too much. To be honest, she doesn’t much care if she has. It wasn’t like she _invited_ Luisa over. The other woman had just stampeded her way in and forced Rose to accept her no matter what. That wasn’t very _friendly_ or _neighborly_ , in her opinion.

“Do you want me to leave?” Luisa asks, her voice very soft. She bites her lower lip. The blankets cover so much of her that this is the only thing Rose can see. “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want, and you won’t have to deal with your across the hall neighbor ever again.”

Rose takes a deep breath. She reaches out under the blankets and takes one of Luisa’s hands. “Maybe knowing _one_ of my neighbors isn’t so bad. Besides,” she continues, pressing her feet against Luisa’s leg again, “I told you that you could stay. No take backs.”

Luisa’s eyes light up. “No take backs.” Then she reaches over and presses a quick kiss to Rose’s cheek. “You know what? I was wrong.”

Rose can’t speak for a second – her cheeks turning a bright red – and she doesn’t know if that’s because she’s _pleased_ or because she’s _angry_ with Luisa for overstepping her boundaries again. She swallows and tugs on her lower lip and then stares at her. It’s bait, but she’ll take it. “Wrong about what?”

“I think you’re cuter like this.” Luisa reaches across again and taps the tip of Rose’s nose. “Even if you _do_ hate Christmas.”

“ _I don’t hate Christmas!_ ”


End file.
